


The Unwanted Visitor

by Mulberrywest



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Divorce, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26120620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mulberrywest/pseuds/Mulberrywest
Summary: After the end of Lethal White, Robin and Matthew’s divorce is not yet finalised.
Relationships: Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

There are considerations even before my consideration for you; reparations to be made-ties you know nothing of. If you repent of marrying, so do I.” 

― Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd

“And when did you last see her?” Strike searched for a notebook on the desk – messier than usual, stacked with copies of tide tables for the Shoreham case and drained coffee cups, obscuring any sign of usable paper. “Just hold on Mrs Turnbull,” he placed the receiver on the desk and moved from the inner office to grab some A4 paper from the printer. Once seated back at his desk, he proceeded to jot down the details of the missing relative. “We could do an initial search, which would cost £500. If that throws nothing up or leads to a dead end, it at least limits the expenditure,” he explained to the elderly sounding lady. He looked up as he heard the door to the outer office open, bringing with it sounds of the roadworks outside on Denmark Street. Assuming it was Robin back from surveillance, he concluded his call in a leisurely manner. He was therefore surprised to see the wiry from of Matthew waiting by Robin’s desk when he moved into the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of water. “Matthew,” Strike said, surprised, “I’m afraid Robin is out on a case. Do you want to leave her a message?”

Matthew looked pale and worn – he was wearing a faded rubgy shirt and jeans and had a wild-eyed hollowness to him.

“I bet you are fucking delighted,” Matthew spat at Strike, “you’ve got what you always wanted!” Strike assessed him calmly, “I know you’re upset, Matthew – I’ll let Robin know that you called and take any message but I have a business to run and I do need to get on.”

“Well, lucky, fucking, you – I don’t have a job to get on with because – guess what - Tom and Sarah have split up and Tom thinks he knows why – he’s fucking sacked me! This is all your fault!” Matthew wheeled round completely now from Robin’s desk to face Strike. “From the first day Robin started working here, you couldn’t wait to get your filthy nicotine-stained hands on her. You’re disgusting!” Strike tried to remain calm but Matthew’s self-pity was unbelievable - he gazed down at the worn linoleum flooring for a second, trying to compose himself – the door downstairs slammed shut and from the open window he could hear a distant police siren on Charing Cross Road. “Look, Matthew - I understand that you are really upset – but trying to direct blame on anyone else is pitiful – this is a shit show of your own creation…”

Robin had got to the landing by the graphic design studio when she heard raised voices from the office – unhappy client she thought to herself, wondering who was in the diary for this afternoon. Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of her name drifting down the stairwell.

“…Robin chose to be with you, she chose to love you, she chose to marry you for fuck’s sake – and what did you do: try to control her, force her into a mind-numbing job and shag Sarah Shadlock in the marital fucking bed! Jesus – she’s a fucking goddess – what were you thinking!”

Robin burst through the door, horrified to see Matthew there.

“How dare you come to my place of work,” she hissed at Matthew, her cheeks flaming red. “Please leave now. I will never forgive you for this.” Embarrassment and horror was plastered all over her face.

“Robin,” Matthew implored. “Don’t you see. We never stood a chance from the beginning! He was always there, poisoning things…” He was yelling now, pointing at Strike “… and as soon as he could, he moved in on you. Even on our wedding day, he ruined everything.” Robin’s fury was building - she moved towards the galley kitchen, where Strike was still standing, coffee mug in one hand. Strike could see that she was incandescent with rage. She hesitated for a moment as though considering something then moved suddenly towards Strike and placed her left arm around his waist. Surprised, thinking that perhaps she wanted support, Strike yielded and pulled her closer to him reflexively, his arm around her neat waist. “What is it that you want to hear, Matthew?” Robin hissed. “That you’re right – that we’re together and that it’s him who impales me every night with his massive…”

“Robin!” cautioned Strike, seeing that things had gone too far but nevertheless feeling the need to look down into Robin’s red gold hair to hide something approaching a grin. He composed himself and turned to Matthew, “You need to leave now. This is harassment and I will call the police.”

Strike released Robin from his embrace and moved quickly to open the door. Matthew shot them both a final dark parting look, venom pooling in his eyes, and headed urgently off down the metal stairs.

Strike closed the door and looked over at Robin who was standing in the galley kitchen shaking with anger. “You OK?” he asked gently.

“Unbelievable!” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry he came here,” she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. “Listen,” Strike said, “don’t be sorry – I’m just glad that the office drama isn’t linked to my personal life these days!” He winked at her and despite herself she smiled. “Goddess?” she said, recovering herself, with a quizzical raise of the eyebrow. Fuck – so she’d heard that, he thought. “Well you are and he knows it – he’s just trying to find excuses but he knows in his heart of hearts that he’s the one who’s fucked up the best opportunity of his life… Shit,” said Strike suddenly, looking at his phone. “I’ve got to meet Shanker at 3.00 in Old Street. Will you be OK?”

“What time will you be back?’ Robin had moved to her desk now and was taking her thin navy jacket off and draping it over the back of the chair, seemingly more composed.

“6.00ish I think – will you still be here?”

“I fancy a drink to be honest, after the bugger of a day I’ve had – are you up for it?”

“Yes, sure, see you in the Tottenham at 6.30,” he replied, moving back to the inner office to grab his cigarettes.


	2. Chapter 2

This good fellowship - camaraderie - usually occurring through similarity of pursuits, is unfortunately seldom super-added to love between the sexes because men and women associate not in their labours but in their pleasures merely.”   
― Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd 

It was a pleasantly warm evening as Strike left the office in Denmark Street and walked round the corner to the Tottenham. There were fewer people these days, he thought, on this part of Charing Cross Road – the apocalyptic road works acting as a deterrent to Friday night revellers. As he walked into the Tottenham, he saw that it was predictably busy, in sharp contrast to the street outside. A group of students were celebrating a friend’s birthday at the large table to the right of the bar and behind that he could see Robin and Vanessa Ekwensi sipping wine at the high table and laughing conspiratorially. He hadn’t expected Vanessa to be here but seeing Robin happy and looking relaxed again after the stress of this lunchtime made him glad that she was.

“Evening all,” he faux saluted Vanessa and Robin. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll go,” Robin said, gesturing to the bar, “I need to get some crisps and I’m not sure what they have. Doom Bar and the same again for you, Vanessa?” She moved away through the crowd and Strike took a seat next to Vanessa, who was nursing the dregs of a glass of red wine.

“You two look happy,” he smiled.

“She’s been telling me about Matthew’s little scene earlier today.” Vanessa raised an eyebrow.

“I know – it’s hard not to feel a tiny bit sorry for him – he has fucked up so royally.”

Vanessa wrinkled her nose and stared at him incredulously, “he deserves everything he gets as far as I’m concerned…although,” Vanessa hesitated remembering a detail that Robin had told her, “I’m not sure he’ll ever be able to lose the mental image of you impaling Robin with your massive…”

Strike raised his hand… “I’m pretty sure that was the idea. The problem now is that she has set me up to be a complete disappointment.”

“Disappointment to whom,” Vanessa couldn’t help herself but ask him with a knowing smile.

Strike’s face was picture of confusion, saved in the nick of time by the return of Robin from the bar, depositing an assortment of packets of crisps and the drinks on the table. She tore each crisp packet length-wise and opened them up flat so everyone could help themselves. “What?” she looked at each of them, sensing the awkward pause. “I couldn’t decide what flavour I fancied so I got one of each.”

Conversation moved on to Eric Wardle who had just been recognised for bravery and, after another round of drinks, Vanessa’s mobile started to vibrate on the table. “This will be my cue to go,” said Vanessa with a grin, “I am meant to be meeting Chris in the Palomar at 8.00 and he’s probably wondering where I am. Have you been there? The food’s amazing.”

“See you tomorrow night, Robin – see you, Strike,” Vanessa said, giving a Robin a hug and Strike a short wave. The tall detective cut a very elegant figure in her halter neck jump suit as she moved through the pub to the door.

“Do you fancy some proper food,” asked Strike, looking at the empty crisp packets and then at Robin. “Not quite the Palomar but we could try that new place near the office, The Smoking Goat? I’m starving.”

“Good idea,” Robin said, contentedly. She covered the hand he had left resting on the table lightly with hers. “Do you really think I’m a goddess?” she said quietly, looking up at his face. He could smell the sweet wine on her breath and see a flush of pink in her cheek. “Yes.” He said stroking her hand with his thumb and looking her directly in the eyes. “I do.”

As they exited the pub and turned up Charing Cross Road, the temperature had dropped a little and a light breeze started to have something of a wind tunnel effect on the now relatively quiet road. Strike observed Robin shiver and placed a large arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to him. Her stomach lurched and she felt a quiet contentment that she had not known in ten years engulf her body.

As they turned into Denmark Street, towards the pub now known as The Smoking Goat, a tall slim figure lurched towards them from a doorway.

“I fucking knew it!” said Matthew semi-triumphantly.

“Jesus,” said Strike, feeling concern for Robin, no little irritation, and also looking longingly at the sign for the Smoking Goat. “Not you again.”

“So it’s true,” Matthew widened his arms in an expansive, drunken gesture and hissed at them. “You disgusting old bastard – as soon as I was out of the picture, you moved in with your fucking war stories and your amputated leg…”

“Stop it!” shouted Robin, rounding on him now and disentangling herself from Strike’s arm. “If what you want is to know that this wasn’t all your fault, then you’re right! We should never have got engaged – that was the mistake, maybe even before then... We are such different people. If you want to know the truth, Matthew, it was Cormoran I thought about when we got married, it was him I thought about when we were on honeymoon. I wished every day of our travesty of a marriage that I had never gone through with it, that is the truth.”   
She was shouting now and Matthew looked completely devastated. Tears ran down his crumpled face. He put his head in his hands, attempting to disguise his pain. The day’s drinking, his rage and now this final horror combining to leave him utterly defeated.

“I am sorry Matthew,” she said more softly, and with some regret, realising the true weight of what she had just said, “but that is the truth. We have to be able to move on and you have to stop torturing yourself, and me. It’s over.”

Robin hooked her arm through Strike’s and moved forwards, past the Smoking Goat and towards the office. Strike was silent as they walked, taking in what she had just said and not quite able to look at her. Is this what she really feels? She had sounded sincere, not like in the office earlier that day when she had simply wanted to hurt Matthew and get rid of him. Strike couldn’t quite allow himself to believe it but the emotion in her voice seemed all too genuine. 

Robin didn’t look back.


End file.
